


Don't Judge a Fae by its Color

by cosmogyral_mad_woman



Series: A Sleep With No Dreaming [1]
Category: Inception (2010), Lost Girl
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Eames, La Shoshain, Light!Arthur, M/M, One Night Stands, Shifter Eames, incubus Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyral_mad_woman/pseuds/cosmogyral_mad_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s smile turned sly. “You’re not going to peer pressure me into sleeping with you to prove that I’ve got a wild streak.”<br/>Eames’ eyebrows quirked upwards. “I’m not?”<br/>“No, Mr. Eames.”<br/>Arthur uncrossed his legs and leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees and eyes pinning the cocky bastard in front of him. “I’ll sleep with you because I want to pound you through the mattress.” Arthur stood in one fluid movement, only breaking eye contact to straighten his cuffs and button his jacket.<br/>“Shall we?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Judge a Fae by its Color

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Next Big Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349583) by [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68). 



> So essentially, this is Arthur and Eames thrown into the Lost Girl universe. The only real character crossover is Trick, and that only briefly. This is not a Lost Girl story, but one that steals aspects of that universe. This one shot is intended to be the first of a series. I am currently working on a chapter fic to follow after this work, but I hate posting before I finish, so I have no idea when it will be done. If you have questions about LG fae, I found [this wiki](http://lostgirl.wikia.com/wiki/Lost_Girl_Wiki) to be super helpful. Otherwise, feel free to comment with questions. I like the attention. ;D
> 
> THANKS  
> To the fantastically talented [earlgreytea68](http://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68) for dragging me into the Inception verse and into this ship. If you haven't read her work, STOP NOW AND DO IT. Her HGTV verse changed my life and introduced me to some of my closest friends. Comment Party Peeps are the best kind of peeps. 
> 
> To my betas, [quietborderline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quietborderline/pseuds/quietborderline), [Burning_Up_A_Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun), [pureimaginatrix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pureimaginatrix/pseuds/pureimaginatrix), and last but never least [flosculatory](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/pseuds/flosculatory). You guys are seriously the best. This would not be what it is without your help. BAAAAAAAAAA!!!

 

It was a train wreck waiting to happen.

Trick knew this. It wasn’t as if it was the first time that Light and Dark Fae had eyed one another up in the Dal for amorous reasons, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. At the very least, he felt he should give them warning. Usually, that was enough to warn the perpetrators off of one another; a nudge and a whispered cease and desist to turn the eye towards a new target. And that was assuming he cared enough to meddle.

As it was the night of La Shoshain, technically the two of them bumping uglies (his favorite Kenzi-ism—not that he’d tell her that, of course) wouldn’t be illegal as it would have been any other day of the year. However, he knew that look in Eames’ eye wasn’t one for a quick dalliance.

Trick had seen that face on many a love-struck fool before committing what might have been the stupidest mistake of their young lives. Well, he had better put a bug in Arthur’s ear at least, make sure one of them knew what they were getting into here. And at least Arthur was more likely to listen to him. Eames, well. Trick sighed as he stepped away from the bar with a refill of Arthur’s gin and tonic. Eames would do it at the drop of a hat specifically because he _shouldn’t_.  

“Arthur.” Trick set the drink down on the side table next to Arthur and neatly snagged the empty tumbler sitting next to it. Trick looked up at the incubus in front of him. Arthur looked relaxed and reflective; one shiny oxford resting on the opposite knee of his tailored gray trousers, right arm crossed as his left thumb tugged on his lower lip. He’d been staring off into space before Trick had come over, and despite the fact that he never moved a muscle, he seemed to straighten from the contemplative slouch he’d been in for the last hour or so.

“Trick, thank you. What do I owe you?” Arthur pulled his thumb away from his mouth and met the bartender’s eye.

“On the house, provided you’re willing to listen to a bit of advice.” 

“Oh?” Eyebrow cocked questioningly, Arthur looked away to squeeze the lime wedge into his drink.

“Yes. That wolf over there.” Trick tilted his head towards Eames, sure that the shifter would be trying to appear nonchalant as he attempted to eavesdrop on the conversation, “He’s dark fae. Been eyeing you up for a while. Just thought you should know to steer clear of him.”

Humming in agreement, Arthur took a sip of his drink. His eyes flickered toward the man in question, gaze seeming to stick there for a moment before turning back to the pub owner. “Thank you, Trick. For the drink and the advice.”  Arthur’s gaze turned back towards Eames, considering, and Trick sighed again. Well, it had been a long shot anyway. Good deed done for the day, Trick made his way back to the bar and his thirsty patrons. Hopefully, those two idiots would attempt to keep a low profile. He really should know better than to meddle.

______

“Hello, darling. I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like Trick beat me to it.”

Arthur turned his attention away from the retreating bartender and looked up, and up some more at the tall shifter standing next to him. He blinked, momentarily at a loss for words.

“The name’s Eames,” He held out a large hand toward Arthur and the incubus very carefully placed his tumbler back onto the side table before offering his own hand to shake. 

“Arthur.”

“Pleasure.” The corner of Eames’ lips tugged upwards into a small smile. “May I?” He gestured to the empty seat next to Arthur before sitting—no, the way he took up the space could only be described as a sprawl—and leveled Arthur with a predatory gaze.

“What’s a good looking fae like you doing in a dump like this?” Eames gestured expansively with his beer bottle.

“Does that line ever work?” Arthur leaned back in his chair and re-crossed his legs, taking a small sip of his drink. Eames grinned at him, and Arthur felt his heart flip-flop in his chest.  _Must be getting hungry._

“Usually does the trick.” Eames took a swig out of his bottle, and Arthur watched the shifter’s throat work as he swallowed. Arthur’s mouth went dry at the sight. He took a larger sip of his gin to cover his reflexive swallow.

“Then I despair for the gene pool.”

Eames chuckled before affecting a pout made more dramatic by the plushness of his lower lip.  _That lip was made to be chewed on_ , Arthur mused.

“Most blokes find me charming.”

Arthur snorted into his drink causing Eames to place a hand over his heart. “Darling, you wound me.”

Arthur scoffed at his feigned indignation, a smile creeping onto his face. A smile which froze as Eames reached across to run the pad of his finger over Arthur’s right dimple. Arthur looked into Eames’ eyes, watching as the solid black of his pupils rapidly swallowed the blue. 

Arthur cleared his throat and leaned back to set his tumbler down, immediately missing the heat of Eames’ touch. Instead of being upset at the rebuff, a small smile tipped the corners of Eames’ mouth as he shifted his chair closer to Arthur’s.

“Don’t tell me that my being dark fae is bothering you. You don’t look the type.”

“And what type, exactly, is that?”

“A goody two shoes.”

 Arthur smirked at him, but didn’t reply. Instead, he took in the man across from him. The jeans Eames wore were comfortably worn and ripped, though Arthur would bet that they were more the product of hard wear and not purchased to make a statement. He wore a soft looking black cotton shirt that emphasized the spread of his shoulders and hugged his well-defined biceps. Eames looked like he’d been poured into his chair; he looked more relaxed than a house cat basking in the sun. He didn’t look particularly dangerous slouched with legs spread haphazardly and hair a casually tousled mess. Arthur leaned back, amused. “You think I’m a goody two shoes?”

Eames copied his movement, throwing an arm over the back of his chair and tipping his beer bottle towards Arthur. “If said shoe fits.”

Arthur’s smile turned sly. “You’re not going to peer pressure me into sleeping with you to prove that I’ve got a wild streak.”

Eames’ eyebrows quirked upwards. “I’m not?”

“No, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur uncrossed his legs and leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees and eyes pinning the cocky bastard in front of him. “I’ll sleep with you because I want to pound you through the mattress.” Arthur stood in one fluid movement, only breaking eye contact to straighten his cuffs and button his jacket.

“Shall we?”

He walked toward the exit without a backward glance, smirking at the scrape of Eames’ chair and the hurried footsteps following behind. He had an idea he’d been wanting to test for a while now.

 

______

 

Eames followed the lean form in front of him and felt a strong urge to pinch himself. He wanted to prove somehow that he was awake and not in the throes of some fantastic sex dream that would leave him spent and sticky, but still aching as the dream fell to tatters in the wake of reality. Arthur left the Dal and despite Eames being only a couple of steps behind, managed to disappear around the corner. Startled, Eames took a deep breath, sampling the usual city air and searching for the delicious scent of the dark haired man. He struggled into his old leather jacket as he turned the corner towards the nearby alley, catching a whiff of the elusive scent.

He felt strong hands shove him the rest of the way around the corner. The speed in which his chest met the brick of the alley wall was surprising and his breath blew out harshly at the force of it. Breath or no, his instincts took to the fore. He’d been working hench since he’d been a kid. It wasn’t hard to be muscle; mostly he’d just stood there and looked menacing, and of course, there was occasional need to break a few limbs. He’d shown promise with forgery as a teenager and at the boss’ urging had been spending equal time in the gym and with Akiko, the boss’ main forger. 15 years later, he did more art forgery than anything else, but he still hit the gym and attended sparring sessions religiously.

Getting the upper hand in a fight was something he could do, and had done, in his sleep. He used his arms automatically to brace for the impact, the leather taking the worst of the scraping, so it was the work of a simple second to drop one shoulder down and raise the other arm up. He turned and, using his raised arm, he broke the hold to pin his attacker’s arms against his own torso. He stopped himself from throwing the punch he had chambered with his free arm and instead stared at Arthur. The street light cast Arthur’s profile in sharp relief, showing the small smirk on his lips. His eyes glittered, dark and mischievous. Eames’ tilted his head to the side, not relaxing his pose.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Eames asked lightly. He kept his voice quiet. Trick would kill them if he found out that they’d fought on his oh-so neutral territory.

“Just testing a theory.” Arthur’s voice was calm. They could have been having tea and biscuits, for all of the emotion they were showing. Polite and relaxed. Eames smiled crookedly. “And?”

Arthur hadn’t tried to remove his arms from Eames’ grip, knowing that it would likely earn him a fist in the face. Eames didn’t relish breaking these particular cheekbones, this nose, that jaw, but he would if he had to, so he appreciated the restraint.

Arthur hummed and abruptly took a large step backwards, his hands sliding slowly out of Eames’ pin. Eames let him, watching as Arthur unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off before folding it and setting it in the shadows near the mouth of the alley. Eames relaxed a bit, rolling his shoulders and watched Arthur’s movements. He especially enjoyed the part where the other man bent over to set his jacket on the ground. At least he was getting a show for his troubles.

Arthur walked back towards Eames and slid into a fighting stance. “I’ll tell you later.”

Eames was sure his eyebrows were edging his hairline by now, a slow grin spreading across his face. He chuckled a bit and crossed his arms and the leather of his jacket creaked comfortingly. “You want to fight me, city boy?”

“Oh, come on. I’m light fae. It can’t be that bad.” The light obscured most of Arthur’s expression, but Eames could hear a smile in Arthur’s voice mixed with the challenge of the taunt. Like there was a joke that Eames wasn’t privy to.

Intrigued, Eames shook his head ruefully and uncrossed his arms to take off his own jacket. He tossed it towards Arthur’s. “Remember, you asked for it, peng.”

“Peng?’

“Yeah. It means I think you’re fit.” Eames popped hard on the ‘t’. He put his hands up into a defensive position and stepped back onto his right leg. He’d let Arthur take a few swipes at him if it made him happy. He’d had weirder foreplay. Eames struck out with a haymaker—quarter power, quarter speed and easy to see coming—aiming for center mass.

 Arthur slapped his fist away easily. “Come on. Don’t play with me.”

“Why not. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

Arthur chuckled. “Fit, huh? So one minute you’re all proper public school and now I’m supposed to believe that you’re a street rat?”

Eames gave him the slow grin that had won his way into many a lover’s pants. “Since you came out swinging, I figured you could handle the real thing.” He threw a stronger punch at Arthur, still holding back a touch; he didn’t want to hurt the poor man until after he’d had his wicked way with him. Arthur not only solidly blocked it, but snuck in a hard cross to Eames’ jaw, rocking him back a step. _Huh. Score one for the city boy_.  Eames took a more serious stance and sent a fast jab to Arthur’s chin, which was again blocked and returned. He could feel Arthur grinning at him as they traded blows. “And I bet the ‘real thing’ changes as often as you change your socks.”

Eames laughed. “Well, you know what they say. Different strokes and all.”

“Tell me, what do you do for a living, Mr. Eames?”

“It’s all perfectly illegal, I assure you.”

And so they fought, lightning fast and dirty strikes. Eames showed off at first using some of his best moves to force Arthur to move around the narrow alley. Arthur had some of the best footwork that Eames had ever seen. Arthur was adept at using his frame to his advantage to deliver solid punches, most of which Eames was able to deflect, and a few that he wasn’t. Eames scored his fair share of course, but it was ultimately a matched fight. It left both men sharp-eyed and panting for breath. The entire time Arthur asked him the most mundane questions, questions you’d ask someone on a blind date.

Block. “Where’d you grow up?” Throw. “Peckham, London.” Dodge. “Family?” Feint. “Dead. You?” Counter. “I was born where Germany is now.”

 Eames got a grip on Arthur’s wrist and _pulled._ Arthur stumbled half a step but let his momentum crash him into Eames, forcing a soft grunt from him as he attempted to not stagger back with Arthur’s added weight. Arthur used the advantage to rock him back another step with a solid punch to the ribs.

Eames tightened his back foot to push forward, crowding Arthur so he couldn’t get another clear shot in the tighter space. He used his bulk to bull Arthur backwards with a hard push at the same time to clear more space for himself. “Family?” Arthur snarled a smile, “Not dead.” Arthur rushed him and Eames let him. He let Arthur carry them to the wall and slapped his arms and hands against it, tucking his head forward to save his skull.

 Eames felt his breath reflected back at him from Arthur’s face and leaned down to _bite_ at his lips, bringing his still-stinging hands up to grip Arthur’s nape in one palm. The other he brought to the base of Arthur’s spine to reel him in against Eames’ body. He spread his feet farther apart so Arthur could press against him thigh to mouth. Arthur groaned, fingers pressing bruises into Eames’ hips, content to let Eames control the kiss. But a kiss implies some tenderness. Eames did not kiss Arthur. He ate at Arthur’s mouth as if he could swallow him down with his next ragged breath. He sucked at Arthur’s lips and tongue, their teeth clashing painfully from time to time as they battled for position. It was messy and hot and Eames had never before been this turned on.

He slid a hand down to palm at Arthur’s arse roughly, rutting against him as they mauled at each other’s mouths. Arthur broke away from him at the rough touch to moan and bury his head against Eames’ neck. Eames was sure his heart was going to pound its way from his chest. When he felt Arthur lean back up, he opened his eyes to look down at him. He wondered idly when he’d rolled his head back to rest against the wall or when he’d closed his eyes.

The feeble light from the street caught Arthur just right for Eames to see the want in his face and the darkness in his eyes as he panted, “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

They decided on Eames’ flat, as it was closer to the Dal. A cab ride was also the faster choice, though far less interesting without the myriad alleys that Eames could have utilized to pull Arthur into for a thorough snogging. He wanted desperately to see how debauched Arthur would look spread out on his sheets. He wanted to find out how long Arthur could keep his composure while Eames did every sinful thing to him that he could imagine. It took a force of will that he didn’t know he had to sit on his side of the silent cab, hands gripping his knees and fingers rapping a quiet tattoo against his jeans.

 To distract himself, he tapped out the melody to Dazed and Confused. Or at least he started to, until long fingers covered the hand closest to Arthur. The heat of his palm through the chaste touch made Eames’ breath hitch, the caress of Arthur’s thumb on the outside of his hand was simultaneously soothing and exciting, chasing goosebumps up Eames’ forearms. The ride was mercifully quick. He was out of the vehicle like a shot, moving around to the other side to lean against the light post on the sidewalk close by.

He waited impatiently, affecting a boredom that he didn’t feel as he watched Arthur finalize their trip. Arthur paid the cab driver, calmly peeling fare and tip from his wallet. Eames was sure the wallet alone was worth more than his entire outfit, leather and all. Arthur appeared incredibly calm for a man who’d just been rubbing off against Eames not ten minutes ago. It admittedly rankled Eames whose skin felt tight and skittish.

Honestly, his current state of arousal felt close enough to a change that it added a titillating element to the evening. Eames didn’t fear his wolf side. He was comfortable in all senses of the word. It would be like a fish feeling uncomfortable in the water, ridiculous. No, he’d accepted his other self decades ago after his first change at puberty. Accepted and embraced it to the extent that after entering the building to his flat, he’d allowed Arthur to precede him onto the lift. He keyed in his code for the top floor and crowded the slighter (though no less strong, as he’d proved in the alley) man against the back and growled low in his throat.

 Arthur’s head snapped up from where he’d been gazing at the edge of the tattoo peeking from the neck of Eames’ shirt to meet his eyes. And, _oh bloody hell_ , he smoldered. Eames couldn’t stop himself if he’d wanted to. Nostrils flaring, he took in Arthur’s heady scent. Sandalwood and citrus filled his head, making him dizzy. He dropped closer to the source, nuzzling under Arthur’s jaw at his pulse point to find the sweet and intoxicating bouquet of clean sweat and sex pheromones. Eames growled again, low and rumbly in his chest, and gently bit at that fluttering beat.

Arthur groaned, gripping his hips to pull Eames in roughly against the cradle of his pelvis. Eames worried at Arthur’s throat with tongue and teeth, suckling at the heavy thud like a particularly delicious sucking candy.

The lift stopped with its usual noisy clang-and-jolt, pulling his lips away from Arthur’s neck. He lifted his head and pressed a brief, hard kiss to Arthur’s parted lips and pulled a moan from him for his efforts.

Eames backed away reluctantly, pushing at the heavy door of the lift to enter the flat proper.

“Welcome to Casa de Eames.” He turned toward Arthur and found him much closer than he’d anticipated, eyes intent on Eames’. He let Arthur back him against the wall to the side of the lift, his back making contact hard enough to jostle the art near his shoulder. The fervor from earlier had quieted to a steady simmer; lips and tongues and hands and bodies slid against one another almost casually in their pursuit to savor the deliciousness of the moment. Arthur had turned Eames’ ravenous feasting in the alley and the lift to a decadent tasting. Eames’ head was completely, dizzyingly, filled with Arthur. He broke away to gasp in a breath, overcome with the need for more. He needed to see, touch, and sample all of the man in front of him. The sheer intensity of it hit him like a train.   

Arthur leaned in close as if to kiss Eames, mouth hovering over the shifter's parted lips. He brushed against Eames’ mouth once, twice and whispered, "You keep teasing me for being light fae. For being, what was that? A 'goody two shoes?'" Arthur chuckled softly and dragged his lips along Eames’ jaw to mouth gently on that wonderfully sensitive spot just behind Eames' left ear. Eames could feel puffs of Arthur’s breath blow coolly against his neck and it sent goosebumps all the way down to his toes.

 "As if I have never once even considered being bad. There's something you've missed though." Arthur nibbled on Eames’ earlobe before licking his way back down to the pulse thundering away, exhaling hard against the beat. "You never did ask what type of fae I am."

"Oh?" Eames voice cracked on the single word, and Arthur gave a low chuckle before nipping at Eames’ collarbone as it peeked from his shirt. Clearing his throat, Eames tried again. "What kind of fae are you, petal?"

Arthur pulled back to catch Eames' eye. Eames watched in fascination as they flashed a sharp, electric blue. "I'm an Incubus, Mr. Eames. I trust you know what that means?"

The implications of this all but punched the air from his lungs. His voice came out breathless and lower than he’d expected. “You feed on sexual energy.”

He expected Arthur to lean back in and kiss him then, but he did not. Instead, Arthur seemed to be intently studying Eames’ reaction. “Yes.”

Eames licked his lips. “If we have sex you’ll feed on me.”

Arthur’s eyes tracked the movement of Eames’ tongue over his mouth. “Yes.”

“Will it kill me?” Eames froze, waiting for the answer. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to say no if Arthur said yes again. Arthur seemed to read this from him and leaned farther backwards, putting a sliver of space between their bodies. Eames missed the heat of him, but appreciated the room to think or flee in terror. Or at least the illusion of such a space.

“No. It won’t kill you. Tomorrow you’ll feel like you overdid it in gym. Frequent feedings would weaken you, but I can control how much I take each time I feed.”

“How much will you take from me? Are you hungry?” Eames tilted his head forward to rest against Arthur’s.

He gave Eames a sharp, predatory smile. “Famished.”

So Eames kissed him, bending slightly to slot his mouth against that smile. Arthur met him immediately, kissing back almost gently. Eames felt a pull from deep in his belly. It was like a wave lapping at his toes. Like basking in the sun after a week of sodding rain. Like the sweetest strawberry he had ever tasted. It was every good feeling that he had ever felt all rolled into Arthur’s kiss.

And god, did he want more.

 

______

 

Arthur sipped at Eames lips, taking in his energy, his chi, with the wave of euphoria that he always felt when he was feeding in the flesh. Dream feeds were still fulfilling, but they never had that definitively _tactile_ element to them. He felt everything in the real world and that was a novel sensation even after all of these years.

Eames gripped at him, hands bunched in Arthur’s shirt underneath his suit jacket, breath and hips alike stuttering in their rhythm. He groaned into Arthur’s mouth and pulled him in tighter against his body. Arthur let himself be folded into Eames’ grip, bringing his hands up to cradle the shifter’s face as he tasted him. After a short time, he pulled away to let Eames catch his breath. Arthur let his head fall backwards, eyes at half-mast and a canary-eating smile on his face. He licked his lips to savor the taste of Eames’ chi that clung there like wine in a glass, staining his palate with its rich flavors.

Arthur felt Eames’ nose drag along Arthur’s mandible to the point of his chin. Eames paused to  nip at it playfully. “How do I taste?”

Arthur hummed his pleasure and he felt his smile grow that much larger, that much smugger. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?!” Eames soft afterglow seemed to crumple with his indignation like a well-used tissue. Eames’ lower lip stuck out just a bit farther with his pout so Arthur bit it, smirking against Eames’ mouth.

“I’ve had worse.”

Eames pushed him away with a disgruntled little growl. He grabbed Arthur by the tie and marched him along the wall to a short set of stairs that led up to a raised area that served as the apartment’s bedroom.

“Hey. Be careful with that. It’s Zegna.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Eames used his tie to reel him in, crushing the silk in his grip as he brought Arthur in for a scorching kiss. Their clothes came off pell mell; Arthur lost track pretty quickly when faced with the delicious distraction of Eames skin. Arthur traced every inch he could reach with fingers and tongue, leaving little nips as he went. He backed Eames to the bed, only pulling back when Eames sank down onto it. Arthur stood in front of him and looked down at the bulky man staring back up at him. The room was mostly dark; the far glass walls let in a meager light, but Arthur was sure Eames could see him clearly despite its weakness.

Arthur bent to sip at Eames’ lips again, pulling out the tendrils of chi with a coaxing kiss. Eames hands came up to rest on Arthur’s hips as if he needed to be steadied. Arthur felt Eames’ thumbs rubbing circles into the soft skin of his hip bones, sending sharp-sweet tingles into his groin. Arthur could feel himself hardening further from the tender touch, his cock straining against his belly. He pulled away from Eames with a gasp immediately followed by a groan as he watched Eames bend and take him into that plush mouth.

Eames worked at him with patient, learning touches and responses. Arthur quite happily sank his fingers into Eames’ short hair and vocalized his pleasure when Eames found just the right pattern and friction. He stifled the impulse to tighten his grip in the silky strands or risk more than a gentle clench and release of his hips, a shallow thrust into the heat of Eames’ soft mouth. Eames released Arthur’s hips to tighten around Arthur’s fingers and hold still for his thrusts. Arthur took the silent invitation and thrust harder into that wet heat, pausing occasionally for more of Eames’ ministrations.

 Eames sucked cock like he kissed, with enthusiasm and the judicious application of tongue. Arthur curled his toes into the soft rug under his feet and struggled to control his breathing. He thought about boring, mundane things to keep from coming. He thought about his research and which test serum his team was working with next. He held off as long as he could before gently tugging at Eames’ hair.

 “Stop. Stop or I’ll go.” His voice was a breathless hush in the dark. Eames gave him one last, hard suck before pulling off of him and placing a chaste kiss to the head of his prick.

“Still ‘not bad’ or would you like to amend your previous answer?” The words were proper, but his voice was low and gravelly from the abuse they’d put it through. Arthur huffed out a laugh and bent to kiss him again, whispering against his lips, “Not sure yet. Need more data.” He urged Eames up properly onto the bed and crawled after to stretch out beside him. They fell against one another into another spine-tingling kiss, hips thrusting lazily together. He let Eames roll him onto his back and rain biting kisses down onto his skin.

Arthur wriggled a bit when Eames sucked a mark high onto the sensitive skin of his neck. Eames pulled away to look down at Arthur with an unrepentant grin. “I’m sorry. Was that too high?”

Arthur chuckled, knowing that the joke was on Eames. Any and all marks faded with feedings, including a lot of major trauma. By morning, Arthur would look fresh as a daisy no matter the amount of stubble burn he incurred or the number of hickeys Eames chose to give him. He said nothing, just pulled Eames’ weight down onto himself and kissed him with the sole purpose of rendering him senseless. It seemed to do the trick. Well, that and the whispered words “fuck me” into Eames ear.

Eames was all too eager to do so, grabbing the slick from the bedside with fumbling hands. He was far more careful in preparing Arthur, working his way from one to three thick fingers slowly as if to torture Arthur with every glide and flick of his hand while Eames licked and sucked at Arthur’s cock. By the time Eames finally slid home into Arthur they were both panting and sweat-soaked. He could tell Eames was trying to stick to slow, long strokes, all the better to tease at the tempting edge of orgasm.

Arthur writhed under Eames’ weight, gripping tightly to the man above him and met him stroke for stroke. When he felt Eames’ rhythm begin to stutter he slid his hands from Eames’ nape and lower back to cup his face closer to Arthur’s. He felt Eames’ breath pant against his mouth. This close he could see that Eames’ eyes were all pupil and his cheeks were flushed with exertion. Arthur waited until he could feel the tugging edge of his climax to reach up and gently, ever so gently, taste Eames one last time. Over the precipice he fell, into an electric orgasm. His shout twined through the air with Eames’ cry as he also came from the additional pleasures that feeding bestowed upon him.  

As Arthur came down, he felt Eames’ weight resting against him. He felt the ebb and flow of Eames’ breath as he pressed against Arthur’s belly. The room smelled of sex and of Eames’ woodsy aftershave. Arthur’s fingers ran over thick, relaxed muscle and into Eames’ sweaty hair and gently scratched against his scalp. Eames shivered against him, his muscles contracting. Arthur savored the sensations like a meal at a three Michelin star restaurant.

He drank in Eames’ afterglow like the sweetest mead, memorized each attribute as it crossed his palate. Feeding from other Fae always made Arthur feel like he was invincible and he let himself be dizzy with it for a moment before he pushed at Eames to roll off of him. Eames groaned as he carefully rolled away to flop next to Arthur, panting.

Eames turned his head to look at Arthur and grin. “Admit it, I’m the best shag you’ve ever had.”

Startled, Arthur laughed, “Data was inconclusive. We’ll have to retest.”

Eames growled and leaned over to bite at Arthur’s shoulder. He laved at the bites and hummed questioningly at Arthur before asking, “Are you ever going to tell me what the whole point was for our little face-off in the alley?”

Arthur turned to him, eyebrow raised incredulously. “You ruined my tie. Why would I tell you anything?”

“I did say I’d buy you a new one. Meanwhile, I can think of a few good uses for the old one. But not yet. I need a few minutes to catch my breath.” 

Arthur smirked. “Funny thing about being an Incubus,” He stretched to lick the seam of Eames lips. "I don’t have a refractory period. And you don’t have to have one either.”

Eames groaned and bit at Arthur’s lips. “Darling, you’ll be the death of me.”

Arthur pulled back to whisper against Eames’ lips, sliding a hand along Eames’ jaw. “So, I’m ‘darling’ again, am I? Am I not peng enough for you anymore, street punk?”

Eames opened his mouth to reply but, with a heat-charged touch from Arthur, his words were lost on a shuddering sigh. Arthur chased it with a grin and a kiss.

 

 

***

 

Coldness crept steadily in, waking him. They had fallen asleep above the covers, limbs tangled around one another. As awareness fully returned, Arthur realized that his arm had gone numb where it rested underneath Eames’ head. He was loath to remove it, but his bladder had also made its needs known to him, so he slowly extricated his arm from under the shifter’s neck and slid towards the edge of the bed to look for the rest room.

“You’re not leaving already, pet? I’m sure we have a few hours left before we’re sworn enemies once again.”

“You weren’t born in that time period. It sounds incredibly facetious when you say it like that.” Arthur sat up and looked over his shoulder, admiring the play of light and shadow streaming in from the windows on the other side of the apartment where it painted the skin and ink sprawled out behind him. “And no. Where’s your bathroom?”

“It’s true, we never got around to the tour, did we?” Eames pointed one finger toward the foot of the bed. “If you need a slash, the bathroom’s there.” He swung his arm to point at the farthest point of the apartment from them, gently smacking against Arthur’s upper arm. “Kitchen’s over there. Make yourself at home.”

Eames flopped back onto the pillows, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable. Arthur stood, feeling Eames’ eyes follow him to the bathroom. He used the facilities and poked around the kitchen, opening cabinets until he found the glasses. Water procured, Arthur stood in front of the bank of windows next to the kitchen. The view was nice, not spectacular, but situated along the river to catch the eventual sunrise as it hit the silhouette of the skyscrapers downtown. 

He turned from the glass at the sound of bare feet padding on hardwood. Eames was closer than he’d expected, a scant six feet away. Arthur had the benefit of having the moon at his back, shadowing his face. He took the opportunity to study the man in front of him, taking a slow slip of his water to mask his scrutiny. The light threw Eames into bold relief, carving his cheekbones into the planes of his face and casting a soft blue hue to his features, those ridiculously plush lips. He stood nude in front of Arthur, comfortable in his skin.

The ink stood out prominently against the darkness of Eames skin, scrawling aimlessly in various styles and scripts. Hidden amongst the pictures and English were his clan tattoos, which denoted his rank and allegiances. Arthur wished that he could translate them into the common tongue, but the shifters had always been a secretive lot. It made sense, of course. The shifters, and the wolves in particular, had been the foot soldiers of both the light and the dark for centuries. In order to protect their communications, they had to keep their languages restricted to their specific clans.

As he looked his fill, Eames reached over and plucked the glass from Arthur’s cradling hands. He took a deep pull, nearly draining the water in one go. Arthur watched his throat work, gaze following an escaped droplet down the thick column of Eames’ neck only to catch in the nest of hair on his chest. Arthur’s mouth went dry again, as it had in the bar, and he reached to take the glass back. He met Eames’ eyes in the low light. Arthur could feel the heat of Eames’ desire rise into the room and suddenly he was _ravenous_. He moved to set the glass on the nearby pool table when Eames stopped him.

“Have a care, darling. Re-felting is an expensive and tedious process. I don’t care how delectable your arse is, it’s not worth another lecture.”

“So, no sex on the pool table?”

Eames swallowed, throat clicking as if it too had gone dry. He cleared his throat before growling, low and raspy, “Anywhere else, I’m game.”

Arthur smiled, small and sharp. “Lead on, Mr. Eames.”


End file.
